A few years ago, I remember watching an episode of Anthony Bourdain’s “No Reservations” in which he traveled to Korea at the behest of one of his producers. In this episode, he was dragged around from one nightspot in Seoul to another, stopping by street vendors for various late-night snacks. One stop included a stall that sold, among other things, chicken anus. I kid you not. The Korean term apparently translates to “house of poo,” so they ordered “chicken house of poo”. The clip below shows the meal in question, beginning shortly after the translation of the anatomical term (“house of poo”) was given.
So what does this have to do with a blog entry that should be dealing with marital discord and adultery? Simple: my wife is spending the weekend with the adulterer, and she has taken the dog with her. The adulterer has chickens, the chickens have anuses, and those anuses deposit copious amounts of poo on the ground; evidentially there is enough of the stuff there for me to call it “Camp Chickenshit.” The evidence came in the form of our dog who, on the last visit she was obligated to make to Camp Chickenshit, came back with chicken feces caked all around her neck. She smelled like a barnyard, to boot. It was pretty disgusting, yet somehow my wife, who is sensitive to smells of all sorts, did not find it objectionable enough to give the dog a bath. After several days had passed, I gave the dog a bath, for it was obvious to me that, in addition to the deposits from the houses of poo, she had also picked up quite a few fleas on that visit as well.
Strangely for me, this visit of hers to Camp Chickenshit is a bit different. I know that their relationship is in trouble, and I also know that she has been advised by this so-called “energy worker” to try to heal my emotions in an effort to further enable the adulterous affair. She has also been advised to take her time in trying to placate me, since any discord with me has been, is, and will continue to spill over into the adulterous affair. This wait-and-placate approach is sure to further destabilize the affair, as her eventual move-in date with him is pushed farther and farther in to the future. At this point, it likely will never happen, and of course I’m totally okay with that.
What will likely happen is her departure from adultery way station #1 (the friends’ house two blocks from here) to adultery way station #2, which is the residence of an adult female student my wife teaches. That will likely be an oppressive atmosphere for my wife, as this woman is single, never married, in her late 50s, and an observant Christian who likely will be very uncomfortable with the idea of my wife maintaining an adulterous relationship. I don’t know if she knows about it at the moment — I suspect not — but if she were to find out about it she might give my wife the boot. Supposedly the various boxes that were packed 3 weeks ago, ones that are still sitting in our laundry room, will end up in this woman’s basement, for eventual deployment to Camp Chickenshit.
One other thing bears mentioning again: this woman also happens to serve on my wife’s doctoral exam committee, so there is also a professional conflict of interest at play.
But I digress.
This visit to Camp Chickenshit is different for me, because I actually don’t really care what she’s doing. On her last visit, I sort of was rooting for them to have a big relationship-ending fight, but that seems not to have materialized. I’m just giving up hope for that happening according to any schedule at this point. I know their affair is doomed, it’s just a question of when and how. I’m just not going to guess about it anymore. I’ll let them have their immoral time together. What they do really doesn’t bother me, so long as there is no violence or threat of harm. That’s right, I am actually saying for the record that I really don’t care what they do when they’re together. I don’t have visions of them together, I’m not plagued by thoughts of horror or disgust of my wife with another man or anything like that, even though that may be hard to believe. I really don’t care.
I just know that every moment they spend together moves them that much closer to a relationship-ending event. Everything they do together, every activity they share, every conversation they have will put them one step closer to the situation that precipitates the end of the affair. Odd, isn’t it? It would seem from the outside that affairs are impenetrable, and in a way they are: you just cannot talk reason to a spouse who is immersed in the fog of the affair. They cannot think rationally, and so any efforts one might make to reach out to them will almost certainly fail. But their actions together are nothing other than perfidious, and there is no exception. Even the positive actions and feelings are still perfidious. Every single thing they do, from making coffee in the morning to cleaning the chicken shit out of the chicken coops is nothing other than perfidy so long as they are together. And every single act of perfidy gets deposited into an adultery “bank account” that eventually will implode when it hits a critical level. That’s the nature of adultery, after all. It never works. Even in the situations one hears about where a person sustained an adulterous relationship for decades it still doesn’t work. Someone has to turn a blind eye to enable it.
I don’t turn a blind eye. I just shut down any talk of the affair at the least hint of its existence. The last time she even dared speak a word of this to me was just after Thanksgiving. I haven’t heard a peep about it since, even though she’s come clean to a number of other people about it in the interim. I’m the last person she gets to tell about it, and she only gets to tell me about it once it’s over. I think she senses this, and it makes her feel very uncomfortable. Even if everyone else in the world were willing to listen to her talk about the affair, I will still hold out, and that will eventually burden her conscience to the point that the whole thing comes crashing to an end.
In reality, though, my holding out will likely just be one of many pressures conspiring to take the affair down. There is no future life out there with Prince Adulterer out at Camp Chickenshit; there never has been and never will be. My wife, however, will be the last to figure that out.